


Through Purgatory

by purgatorydog (huntstiel)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Gen, Purgatory, Team Purgatory 2.0, and Benny is a marshmallow (figuratively), in which Meg and Benny become BFFs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-07
Updated: 2013-11-23
Packaged: 2017-12-25 20:12:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 17,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/957154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/huntstiel/pseuds/purgatorydog
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After dying at the hands of Crowley and landing in Purgatory, Meg decides to exact her revenge against the King of Hell. She teams up with Benny, a surprisingly soft touch to her hard edge, and the two face a number of obstacles along the way.</p>
<p>Takes place at the end of Season 8 into early Season 9 (projected).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Team Purgatory 2.0 stuff:  
> Fanmix -- http://8tracks.com/thistlepie/strangers-in-the-wind  
> Edits -- http://brother-benny.tumblr.com/tagged/tp2-series  
> Through Purgatory Tumblr link -- http://brother-benny.tumblr.com/post/60540578696/title-through-purgatory-author-purgatorydog
> 
> A big thanks to Lucie for her beta reading!

* * *

 

 

  **CHAPTER ONE**

 

            Meg sucked in a deep, ragged, desperate lungful of air. The wind had been socked out of her, like she had fallen from the top of a building. Looking around, though, she saw she was sprawled on the floor of a dense forest. All around her were monstrously tall trees whose thick foliage diffused soft light throughout. The damp earth perfumed the air sweet and musky, like autumn cemeteries in the Midwest.

            It was odd. The last thing Meg remembered was Crowley’s face, cruelly unattached as he jammed an angel blade into her stomach. And now she was here. The knife now laid next to her, spotless and gleaming. Meg touched her abdomen tentatively. Her hand came back wet, but only from the dampness of the earth. She lifted her shirt and found herself completely intact. No wounds, no scars—just skin. She put a hand to her round face, and discovered that it, too, was no longer bloodied and marred from fighting. Her blonde hair was neat and clean and her leather jacket, shirt, and jeans were unsoiled. It was as if nothing had happened to her.

            “Well, how ’bout that,” she mumbled. Her voice was rough from thirst, but it maintained its wry tone.

            There was something else in the air, something alarming enough that made Meg grab the angel blade. It was sulfur: the smell that possessed humans belched out once a demon left their bodies. No matter who they possessed, or how long they’d been topside, demons always reeked of Hell. Meg’s body ran cold. She had to move, she told herself. There could be something nasty nearby. She used a tree to stand herself up, brushing dirt off the bottom of her jeans. She began walking, but abruptly stopped. She had no idea where she was. There was nothing but trees; each direction appeared as nondescript as the next. She decided to continue forward—eventually she’d run into a highway or campsite.

            Several kinds of flora populated the ground, the likes of which Meg had never seen before. One was brutally large, with ominously acid-colored leaves that stood out like road construction signs in the muted colors of the forest. Its leaves were thin and serrated like bread knives. Not something one would feel compelled to pick and give to a loved one, that much Meg knew. All the trees rustled minutely, but there was no wind to speak of. It was as if they were peering down to glimpse Meg as she passed through them.

            She gathered her leather jacket in front of her with her free hand and shivered, though she was not cold. She scolded herself a little; told herself to get it together, quit imagining things. She focused her attention in front of her, averting her eyes from the trees as best she could.

           She was beginning to calm down again, then her boot crushed something with a sickening crunch. She had stepped on a skull, caving in its cranium. It looked human until she noticed the teeth. There were two sets: one normal—human; the other, thin and long—vampire. Unusual that she would find one here in the middle of a forest. Vampires weren’t necessarily outdoorsy types: they liked urban areas where food was plentiful. Meg picked up the skull.

            “Well, Yorick, it looks like your vampy days were numbered. They must’ve chased you pretty far out of town,” Meg said to it. She spotted the rest of the body a few yards away. “Ooh, they got you _good_.”

            She tossed the skull over her shoulder and walked to the vampire's remains. Whatever flesh and cloth may have covered it previously no longer existed, only bones. Meg toed a femur over and nearly jumped out of her skin when something small and furry scrambled away to safety.

            “ _Damn it_ ,” Meg muttered tersely. She clutched her chest and felt her heart pounding against it. She kicked the bones for good measure, then carried on.

            The trees rustled again, but Meg felt no breeze. The forest was eerie in its emptiness; there were suspiciously few woodland creatures scurrying around. And there were no birds squawking, no bugs buzzing. Just the crunch of her footsteps. Just the smell of decaying plants and the scent of sulfur, now more potent than ever...

            “Well, if it ain’t the blackest of all Hell’s charbroiled sheep?” a voice behind her called.

            Meg whirled around, her whole body pinpricked by adrenaline. Closing in on her, a man with pitch black eyes—a demon. He wore a cable knit sweater with an unraveling bottom seam over a graying t-shirt and dirty jeans. His face was drawn, mud-slung, with thick but articulate eyebrows.

            “I know you,” Meg said, cautiously.

            “You sure do, honey,” the demon replied. In his hands, he held a mace made with a jagged stone secured with leather thong to the end of a sawed-off tree branch. It looked like he had made it himself.

            “How,” Meg said. It was less of a question and more of a demand.

            “Why don’t you wager a guess?”

            “How ’bout I gank you now and think about it later?” Meg replied, gripping her angel blade tighter.

            The demon laughed, short and high-pitched. “Oh, Meg. You used to be so fun. You taught me a thing or two about torturing humans back in the day. ’member?”

            Meg searched the demon’s face, feeling the vague tug of recognition somewhere in her mind.

            “It’s coming to you, I can see that,” the demon smirked.

            “Frederick.”

            The demon gave her a short bow. The loose ends of his sweater brushed against his filthy knees. He looked different now: thinner, shaggier hair, with a dangerous look in his eye. They had worked together in the torture chambers in Hell; he was the first friend she had there.

            “I knew you’d remember. How could you forget good ol’ Freddy?”

            “Been a long time since I’ve seen you. You’ve changed.”

            “I should say the same. Last I heard, you were topside fighting alongside those Winchesters.”

            Meg fixed her eyes on one of the gargantuan plants, feeling blood rush to her temples.

            “I saw one of them down here once. He was mucking around with ol’ Benny, don’t know why.”

            Meg’s eyes snapped back to Freddy. “What do you mean, _down here_? Where are we?”

            Freddy looked surprised. “You don’t know?”

            Meg didn’t reply.

            “You’re in Purgatory, Meg. It’s where all those creepy, crawly bumps in the night go when they get bumped off themselves. Surely you knew that?”

            Meg sighed. Of course, she knew about Purgatory. Thing was, nothing ever left Purgatory, it was hidden and locked up so tight. No one she knew had a description of it. Some time before she faced down Crowley and was killed, she found out Castiel had been sucked into Purgatory with Dean after defeating the leviathan. She had asked the angel about it once, but he only shot a quick glance at Dean then changed the subject. She was left to imagine it for herself, which in her eyes was a futile exercise. Meg knew one thing for certain, though: whatever its appearance, Purgatory would be another cage, just like every other dimension. Knowing that gave her power—every cage had a way out if she looked hard enough.

            “—There’s tons of evil bastards down here,” Freddy continued. “Leviathan, demons, vamps, and some other things I’ve never seen before topside. I don’t even know what they're called, you just gotta hack the heads off.”

            Meg listened to the trees sway.

            “How’d you meet your end, Meg? Them Winchesters finally do you in?”

            Meg glared at him. “Crowley ganked me before I did him.”

            “You tried to kill the King of Hell?” Freddy asked, one of his eyebrows raised. “How batshit crazy are you?”

            “Just enough to land me here, I guess.” Meg was getting impatient. She needed to think of a plan to get back topside. She had heard rogue reapers slid through the dimensions occasionally, there had to be a way.

            “Well, listen, Frederick. It’s been real swell catching up and all, but I got places to be.”

            The demon blocked Meg from passing with his forearm.

            “You’re not going anywhere, missy.”

            Meg pushed against him in order to put some distance between them again. “What do you want?”

            “It’s been so long, you must’ve forgot. You’re the reason I’m down here,” Freddy said. “I was just minding my own business, torturing souls—like you taught me, remember, Meg? But suddenly, you decide that’s no good anymore. Next thing I know, you’re punching holes through me like a loyalty card at an ice cream parlor.”

            Meg stepped backward, but Freddy kept pace with her. “You went too far, Frederick. Not even Alastair sank that low.”

            Freddy laughed. “I’ll take that as a compliment. Now, listen,” he licked his dry lips, “I’ve been in Purgatory a long time and I’ve killed a lot of fiends, but I never know exactly where they go once they die. Once I kill you, you drop me a postcard, all right?”

            “Bite me, Frederick darling,” Meg snarled.

            The demon heaved a blow of his mace at Meg’s head, which she barely avoided. He swung again, this time shredding her jacket and leaving a deep gash in her arm. Meg lunged at Freddy’s legs, sending him flat on his back. He dropped his weapon and grabbed Meg’s neck, choking her. He flipped her so that he was hovering over her.

            “You traitor! You think you better than the rest of us but you got just as much blood on your hands!” Freddy slammed Meg’s head against the ground repeatedly. “There ain’t no moral high ground in Purgatory!”

            Starbursts bloomed violently in front of Meg’s eyes, obscuring her view. She gasped for air, but none came. Her lungs ached, begging for relief. All she could think was, _The blade, the blade, where’s the fucking blade?_ Meg groped for the angel blade, which had been flung somewhere on the ground nearby, but she couldn’t quite reach it.

            Freddy leaned over and picked up the blade with his free hand. “You looking for this?” He poised the blade tip over her heart, smirking.

            Meg managed to gasp out, “No, you dumb shit.” She grabbed the heavy mace and clubbed him over the head. Freddy heaved over the side of her, landing on his back. Before he could recover, Meg swiped the angel blade from his hand and shoved it into his chest. Freddy’s body sparked red from deep within. He sputtered and gasped, his eyes locked on Meg.

            “I’ll see you in the next life, Fred,” she said.

* * *

            With her unwounded arm, Meg rolled the demon corpse under a large bush. She had a feeling that Freddy was not the last fiend she was going fight, and she didn’t want to leave a trail of dead bodies for others to track.

            Meg ripped a length of Freddy’s t-shirt and wrapped it around her wounded arm. There was nothing to be done about the damage he incurred on her jacket.

            “Asshole,” she muttered to herself. She stowed the angel blade in her jacket and picked up the mace. Apparently, that’s how they did it around there. Fair enough.

            The forest began to darken into evening, though Meg hadn’t seen the sun since her arrival. The sunset leeched all the color out of the woods: everything dimmed into shades of black and gray. Meg looked for a place to hide until morning. She tussled with a vampire at some point, but it was quick and short: the mace knocked its head clean off, startling everyone involved. Just as the last bit of daylight remained, Meg saw a cave in the side of a hill. It wasn’t very big—more of a deep alcove a couple yards deep rather than a proper cave. But it looked like a fine place to squat for the night. She sat down against the back wall. The sky didn’t get any darker after that point; the atmosphere was as gray as pewter with just enough visibility to see the outlines of the trees. Meg was pretty sure that from where she was sitting, she would be able to see anyone coming without being seen herself.

            “Home sweet home, old girl,” she sighed to herself bitterly. Though demons didn’t sleep, Meg was exhausted. She stared out into the woods, but felt her gaze turn inward.

            Freddy—she hadn’t thought about him in years. Soon after she had been promoted to the torture chambers, she had trained him. She was a brutal teacher but he was an eager learner and eventually they became friends. At some point, though, something shifted in him and he started slaughtering anyone he could get his hands on—first condemned souls, but then demons and other Hell creatures. No one was safe from his wrath and finally the commanding officers demanded him dead. Meg was the one to do it and almost lost her life in the attempt.

            Freddy was the first demon to turn on her, but he certainly wasn’t the last. She thought about Azazel and Crowley and every godforsaken demon with whom she had ever been in cahoots. Demons were short on trust: the only promises they ever kept were ones made at crossroads. Everything else was at their discretion to suit their needs. Meg knew that; hell, she had done that. But it was bad business, ultimately. It only got the wrong people dead. Foolishly, she had even trusted the Winchesters, but they never extended the courtesy in return and kept her out of the loop. The only person who hadn’t completely screwed her over was the angel. But she knew, deep down, she was peripheral to him. Out of sight, out of mind. It stung but there wasn’t much she could do about it now.

            Being dead and alone in Purgatory seemed to be her new fate; before, she was alive, alone, and in shitty company. At least something had improved.

            “Well, well, Camp Counselor Rick. I sure as hell didn’t sign up for a bunkmate,” someone said in a Cajun drawl. A silhouetted figure stepped into the mouth of the cave, immense shoulders backlit by the twilight. “Must be my lucky day.”


	2. Chapter 2

            “Who the hell are you?” the silhouette growled.

            Meg stood up, mace in hand. “Easy, big fella. I’m just looking for a safe spot for the night.”

            “You’re in the wrong land for that, sister,” the figure replied.

            Meg stepped forward a bit in order to catch a glimpse of him in the low light. He was tall and sturdily built—thick arms and legs with a tapered waist. His features were light, though stern, and an overgrown blond beard covered the finer details of his mouth.  In his hands was a heavy weapon like Freddy’s, except his had a curved blade like a claw. She took another step forward and the vampire’s fangs came out.

            “Come any closer and you’re dead, demon,” he warned.

            “How’d you know I’m a demon?” she asked.

            “You stink of Hell, the whole lot of ya.”

            “Well, you don’t smell like a daisy, either,” Meg replied, grumpily. “Now, I didn’t realize you’d claimed this spot. Let me by and we’ll both go on our separate but merry ways. Deal?”

            “Give me one good reason I shouldn’t kill you here and now, demon.” The vampire lifted his blade up.

            Meg didn’t have a reason, not really. There might be an exit to get her back topside, but by the looks of it, she’d be knee-deep in dead vamps and demons before she found it. The prospect of all that fighting sounded exhausting. And even if she made it out, then what? Join back up with the Winchesters so she could be left out the loop, ignored and abused? Maybe dying again would lead to a better place, something like Heaven. Or even Hell. At least she knew her way around Hell.

            “I’m the one who’s going to kill the King of Hell,” she blurted out, startling herself.

            The thought came from nowhere, but once she said it out loud it felt right. Crowley needed to be put down, his attempts at power were increasingly megalomaniac and dangerous. He aimed once to harness the power of Purgatory souls--that was bad enough--and then he tried to interpret the demon tablet and use its information against the angels and humans. His plans had time and again been stopped by the Winchesters, but it was time for Crowley to be stopped altogether. And Meg would do it.

            The vampire let out a low hoot of laughter upon hearing Meg's response. The laugh took him over and he had to bend over to catch his breath. Meg scowled.

            Finally, when he collected himself, he said, “Oh man, sister. I haven’t laughed that hard since...since I was topside. What kind of mutinous demon wants to shuffle her king off to Buffalo?”

            “He’s not my king,” Meg responded. “I’m just trying to return the favor he so graciously paid me by sending me here.”

            “And how’d you find yourself in such dire straits?”

            “The dire straits found me the day I signed up with the Winchesters.”

            The vampire’s smile vanished completely. “ _What did you say?_ ”

            Meg took a step back. She had obviously found another member of the Winchester fan club. There must have been whole chapters of them down there by now. She should've known better than to bring them up so casually.

            “You know the Winchesters?” the vampire persisted.

            “What of it, Nosferatu?”

            The vampire didn’t reply at first. He sized her up, lingering most on her face. At length, he said, “You’re Meg.”

            “What?”

            “Dean told me about you. He and I...well, we’re brothers. We spent some time down here fighting the good fight, along with his angel friend. They told me some ’bout you.”

            “So you know how much they owe me, right?”

            The vampire chuckled. “They said you were a pistol. I can see they weren’t wrong.”

            “I  _did_ flunk out of charm school...”

            “Oh, you’re not lacking on charm, I can tell you that,” the vampire said. He stuck out his hand. “I’m Benny. If you put down your weapon, I’ll put down mine.”

* * *

            Once he decided that there was no harm in her, Benny warmed up to Meg immediately. His terse frankness turned playful, just like that. Meg’s cold edge didn’t switch off so simply—in fact, it rarely did. The easiness that Benny possessed did not reach her. Though he clapped her on the back and told her to make herself comfortable, Meg sat stiffly against the cave wall, watching his every move.

            “How did you meet the Winchesters?” Benny whispered to her. He was dying to talk to her but didn’t want to attract more fiends, so he had to settle for hushed conversation. He had the timbre of a grizzled lumberjack, though, so even his whisper boomed a little in the cave. Meg kept a close eye on the shadows around him while he carried in a few items, like a nap sack made out of leather (made from hell imp, apparently) and a few live rabbits trapped in a wooden cage. This was Benny’s dinner.

            “Well, I tried to snuff them out a few times.”

            “I’m sure they were much obliged.”

            “Those boys don’t stay dead like a respectable human should.”

            “Sure don’t.” Now sitting on the ground near Meg, Benny grabbed a rabbit from the cage and sank his teeth in.

            “So, you’re a vampire who doesn’t drink human blood?” Meg asked, her eyes glued to the view outside the cave.

            “Even if I was, not a lot of humans in Purgatory.”

            “What about demons? We got human bodies.”

            “Nah. Long ago, I bit one of you all. Something’s not right about it.”

            Meg raised an eyebrow. “How’s that?”

            “You all taste like rotten eggs,” he said, sinking his teeth back into the rabbit.

            “Sulfur. Right.”

            “What can I say, you can take the demon out of Hell, but you can’t take the Hell out of the demon.”

            “For now, I’m just trying to get this demon back _into_ Hell,” Meg said. “You’d think that’d be easy. Crowley said Purgatory was Hell-adjacent. Must be an entrance around here somewhere.”

            “We’ll look tomorrow. Somebody’s gotta know,” Benny assured her. He threw the exsanguinated rabbit out of the cave into a bush.

            “We?”

            Benny turned to her, his blue eyes suddenly electric. At the time, Meg thought it was because he had just fed, but she later knew that his eyes always brightened when he had something touchy-feely to say.

            “If you’re serious about killing Crowley, you shouldn’t do it by yourself. This is a big thing you’re fixin’ to do here.”

            Meg could feel white-hot resentment building up in her. She wasn’t trying to be talked down to by some vampire, especially one who knew so little about her. He had no idea what she was capable of.

            Benny pressed on: “You’re talking about the King of Hell, sister. This isn’t some stab-and-go job. You need a plan. You need somebody who’ll watch your back.”

            “Listen,” Meg snapped. “I can get to Hell by myself. I don’t need some burly vamp leading me around like an undead chaperone.”

            “Nobody said nothing about chaperoning, sister. I reckon you could use a friend.”

            Meg, queen of the rejoinder, fell short of a response. She tucked her hands into her jacket and looked back out into the woods.

            “I’m tired,” she said, flatly.

            “You just rest, then,” Benny said, standing up. “I’ll take the first watch.”


	3. Chapter 3

            Morning in Purgatory didn’t look much like itself by earthly standards. No sunlight streamed down through the trees, rather Purgatory glowed from within. When morning came, the atmosphere itself brightened, like someone adjusted an old television set. Purgatory was beautiful at this time. But it was infested.

            Meg knew that now.

            She had taken the second watch while Benny rested. He slept on one side of the cave where there was a natural curve in the hill. Meg wasn’t sure if the vampire had found it like that or if he’d leaned there long enough to wear a Benny-shaped spot into the rock. Either way, he slept in it, his knees pulled to his chest and head planted on top. He looked like a giant boulder. He slept soundly, too, which surprised Meg. Even if she had needed to sleep, she was wary of something attacking them. After all, Benny had snuck up on her. But Benny had spent years by himself in Purgatory, she can’t imagine that he slept well most of the time.

            Nothing showed up during the night, so Meg had some time on her hands to consider the vampire’s offer. She could use a heavy touch like Benny; she used to flank herself with demon thugs all the time on Earth. But she never needed them. She’d lived long enough to get herself through any fight, whether by her wits or brute force. She was petite, which a lot of people took for frailty, but she was quick, too. Scrappy.

            No, she didn’t need a cohort. But did she _want_ one?

            Benny seemed all right for a vampire. And he was in cozy with Dean Winchester who, needless to say, didn’t cozy up to anyone with fangs. But Benny was a monster in a monster’s land—who was to say whether his word meant anything?

            Meg kicked the toe of one of Benny’s boots a little harder than she meant to. “Up and at ’em, sunshine.”

            Benny jerked his head up, his face terse, alert. It took him a second to remember where he was. Then he relaxed and wiped his eyes with the face of his filthy hand. “I dreamed that I was swimming in the ocean and I had a fin on my back like a shark. Everybody was runnin’ from me like I was gonna eat them but I just wanted to swim. I didn’t even have any teeth.”

            Meg raised an eyebrow. What a strange vampire he was. She wondered how he had survived for so long in Purgatory—sure, he was muscular, but how good was a vampire with no bite? Was he even a warrior? She shook her head and stepped outside the cave. She stretched her limbs, splaying her fingers as far as they would spread. She heard a few bones pop and crack delightfully in her back. She wanted to hear the same sound when she snapped Crowley’s neck.

            “Well, I’d offer you a bite of my last rabbit, but I get the feeling it’d be wasted on you,” Benny said from behind her. “Do demons even eat?”

            “Sure, but for pleasure rather than necessity. Same goes for drink and sex and cable.” She turned toward the vampire and smirked.

            A lazy sort of half-smile crept onto Benny’s face. “I met a leviathan who made some kind of Purgatory hooch. Wasn’t half bad, neither,” he said, pulling out the rabbit from its cage. “He was dumb as a doorknob, though. Got his head chopped clean off a while ago, ruined the fun for the rest of us.” He sunk his vampire fangs into the little creature.

            Meg turned her back to Benny, listening to the wet sounds of his mouth as he sucked the life out of the animal. She waited until he finished.

            “Come with me,” she said.

            Benny ambled up beside her at the cave opening. His face was bright again, luminous like Purgatory. He took in the view, letting Meg’s statement rest in the air between them. For a moment, Meg thought he had changed his mind overnight.

            “You got it, sister.”

            Then, without any preamble, his mood swelled and he began to whistle. He grabbed his nap sack and rough-hewn blade with a prim sort of industry and exited the cave. He drew in a dramatic deep breath and exhaled it loudly.

            “Lucky you’re keeping me around,” Benny said, smugly. His back was to her, but Meg could hear the smile in his voice, sweet and warm.

            Meg picked up her mace and stood next to him. “Why’s that, Fangs?”

            “Cuz I happen to know a fella who might get us to Hell.”

* * *

            Meg and Benny traveled a full day before they made it to their destination. By then, Meg was as filthy as Benny, covered in sweat and caked dirt; her shirt was drenched in blood, mostly others’ but hers, too. Benny had led the way: he followed a scent rather than a path, though Meg couldn’t discern any odors beyond demon stink and the mineraly smell of blood. They took on a handful of fiends _en route_ , including one of those monsters Freddy had mentioned. (“Don’t nobody know what the hell they are, not even the leviathan,” said Benny, shaking his head.) The pair walked endlessly through the trees, weapons and adrenaline high.

            After a certain point, though, Meg spotted where they were headed.

            Benny informed her that most of the unlucky inhabitants of Purgatory were nomadic and alone like him. It was safest that way, he claimed. But some monsters, like vampires, preferred to stick together in small groups. Some even nested—they were far and few between, though, as frenzied outsiders often raided them and slaughtered everyone in sight.

            But this...this was more than that.

            This was a whole village couched high in a grove of huge oak trees. Spindly bridges hung between the trees maybe fifty, sixty feet in the air; it looked like a titanic spider had spun a web. Creatures bustled back and forth between the trees; they reminded Meg of a flock of grackles on a telephone wire. There were small, rough-made huts nestled in the crooks of branches with large, sharpened pikes sticking out of them threateningly. Curiously, on the ground below there were patches of those same menacing pikes sporadically placed underneath the village grounds, though these were tipped bright orange. Meg did not like the look of them.

            “What is this, some kinda hippie commune for monsters?” Meg asked, trying hard to keep the toughness in her voice though really she was impressed.

            Benny chuckled. “Somethin’ like that, yeah.” He approached a tree and started inspecting it. “Now which tree is it...?”

            He ran his large hands across the trunk, but didn’t find what he was looking for. He moved to another tree but had no luck there, either.

            “Aw, hell,” Benny exclaimed, exasperated. He stuck two fingers in his mouth and let out a shrill whistle toward the creatures on the bridge above them. “Will one of you mangy curs send down a rope or somethin’?”

            A couple creatures moved on indifferently, but one leaned over the railing to get a better look.

            “Is that you, Benny?” the creature called.

            “Who else would be insane enough to join your ranks this early in the day?”

            “...yeah, that’s him, all right,” the creature muttered. She barked an order at a passerby she recognized, then turned back to Meg and Benny below. “Three trees to the left, and six up, Benny. I’ll meet you there.”

            Meg and Benny found the tree. The vampire inspected it like he had the others, but this time he found a notch carved into it. Benny hummed approvingly, _Mmmhmm_ , and pulled at the notch. A large slab of the bark swung open on a hinge. The inside of the tree had been hollowed out, and someone had carved rungs into one side of it.

            “What, are we going to Narnia?” Meg asked.

            Benny held the door open for her. “Up you go. Demons first.”

            Meg narrowed her eyes. “If you try to grab a handful...”

            Benny smiled crookedly. “I ain’t trying to get my hand cut off, sister, I hear ya. I’m just a poor vamp tryin’ to climb his way to the top of the ladder. So to speak.”

            Meg rolled her eyes.

            “Will you just get on and quit acting like a freshman in a high school locker room?”

            Meg brushed past Benny, shoving him into the door a little with her shoulder. “Shut up.”

            She put the handle of the mace in her mouth and began climbing the rungs. The tree was tall and the climb got tougher as Meg moved upward, but she finally reached the top where there was a platform. A rough hand grabbed her upper arm and helped her out. Meg wrenched herself out of its grip and said, “Watch it, pal.”

            Standing in front of her was a creature she’d never seen before. She looked like a human, but her face was feral, wolfish, with more of a snout than a human nose.  Her dark hair framed her face like a lion’s mane, and her fingers ended in thick, sharp claws.

            “Take it easy, just trying to help,” the creature replied. She glanced up at a large bucket suspended above the hole. “You don’t want to tip that over. It’s got hellflower sap in it.”

            The set-up was similar to how in medieval castles people would pour buckets of hot oil on intruders below. A few rivulets of orange liquid had streaked down the sides of the bucket and dried there some time ago. The liquid inside had the same color as the plants she had seen around.

            “What does hellflower sap do?” Meg asked.

            The creature ran a claw across her neck in gesture. “We haven’t found a thing it doesn’t kill. Not even leviathan are immune.” The creature looked her up and down, suspiciously. “You a new arrival or something?”

            Meg opened her mouth, but by then Benny had surfaced and clapped a hand on Meg’s shoulder. “This here is Meg. She’s fun, you’ll like her.”

            The creature put out a clawed hand and said, “I’m Larue.”

            Meg did not take her hand. “Pleasure.”

            Benny gave a feeble laugh and changed the subject hastily. “How’s your daddy doin’?”

            “He’s good. He’s, you know, Father. Always got an answer for everything.”

            “Well, that’s good because we’ve got some questions,” Benny replied. He turned to Meg. “Larue’s daddy’s one of the oldest living creatures in Purgatory. He knows more about the ins and outs of this place than anybody else.”

            “Well, let’s go visit the Wizard, then, Toto,” Meg said. “We ain’t got all day.”

            Larue exchanged a glance with Benny.

            “You heard the lady,” Benny said.

* * *

            Larue kept few feet ahead of Meg and Benny, giving the two some space to talk. They walked across dozens of bridges, winding their way through crowds of people at various tasks. A few creatures were thatching the roof of a hut; one was bartering opalescent seeds for weapons; and another juggled balls made out of leather, chatting with passersby. All of them looked similar to Larue: hairy, wolf-like, but still human.

            “What are these things, Benny?” Meg asked him out of the corner of her mouth. “They look like rougarou but worse. I’ve never seen anything like them before.”

            “Sure you have,” the vampire replied. “You just know their ancestors better.” He squeezed past a couple arguing on a bridge. “They’re werewolves.”

            “That’s not possible. Werewolves are either all human or all wolf.”

            “Yeah, that’s topside,” Benny said. “The werewolves most people know on Earth are purer variations. Freshly bitten, first of their family gene pool. These people...well, they’re the products of generations of inbreeding here in Purgatory.”

            “They look like they were transitioning and got stuck,” Meg said.

            “That’s not too far off. You might notice there’s not a sun around, not like on Earth. Same goes for the moon. What we got in Purgatory is luminosity, you see? It’s how I’m able to walk around in the daytime, no problem.”

            Meg accidentally bumped into a youngish werewolf, who snarled at her in passing.

            “Something about the light,” Benny continued, “it keeps them one foot in the wolf, one in the human.”

            “They must go through conditioner like crazy.”

            Benny smirked. “And they don’t take too kindly to jokes, just like their kin upstairs. A tad touchy, these ones. You might want to recall some of those manners you learned in charm school before you get us both killed.”

            “Hey,” Larue called back to them. “We’re here.” She stuck her head into a hut to speak to someone, then waved them in.

            Inside stood an old werewolf, imposingly large and grizzled. His hair was black like Larue’s, but with several shocks of gray streaked through it. He wore a loose, knee-length tunic, and tangled in his furry arms were litters of leather bracelets.

            “Ah, Benny!” the old werewolf exclaimed. He stepped forward and embraced the vampire. “How long has it been since we last saw each other?”

            “Long time, sir.”

            “Two years, at least,” Larue said, idly.

            “How’s your wife?” Benny asked, looking around for her.

            “She’s out raiding a demon colony. There’s been a big influx of them in Purgatory lately,” the old werewolf said. “I wonder why that is?”

            “Winchesters, probably,” Meg said.

            The old werewolf turned to the demon. “Who’s your friend?”

            “This here is Meg, sir. She’s a friend of Dean’s. You remember Dean, right?”

            “Yes, of course. For a hunter, he keeps strange company.”

            “Yeah, well. Us freaks flock together, what can I say?” Benny said.

            “Very true,” the old werewolf agreed. He faced Meg. “I am Lavoie. My daughter says you have some questions for me. Normally, I wouldn’t entertain strangers but you’re a friend of Benny’s, so…”

            Meg asked, “How would I go about looking for an entrance to Hell in this place?”

            Lavoie blinked at the demon. “To Hell? And what business would you have there?”

            “I’m going to kill the King of Hell,” Meg replied.

            Lavoie looked like he swallowed something red hot. He looked at Benny, then back at Meg. A laughter howled out of his lips that was more beast than human.

            “I need to take this act on the road, apparently,” Meg said to Benny.

            “I’m sorry,” Lavoie said, “but you see why that sounds ludicrous.”

            “He’s just a demon,” Meg retorted. “Before he was the King of Hell, he swapped spit with humans at crossroads.”

            “That may be true, but he’s gained considerable strength since then. He’s not some run-of-the-mill crossroads whelp any longer. He’s got legions of demons at his disposal, not to mention hell hounds, imps, Ifrit...Sending you to Hell would be a death sentence; you’d be sent right back to me in a heartbeat.”

            “Listen, I don’t need any Purgatory dog telling me what—” Meg shot.

            She felt Larue’s claws press deep into her larynx. “ _Have some respect_ ,” she growled. The young werewolf’s breath misted hotly on the side of Meg’s face. She sunk her nails a bit deeper and Meg felt the warm trickle of blood on her neck.

            “Well now, hold on, hold on,” Benny bellowed. “Lavoie, she didn’t mean that. She’s just tired, been fighting fiends the whole day. She knows what she’s getting into, we just need a little help, that’s all.”

            Lavoie’s silence was unnerving. He observed Meg struggling against his daughter with a yellowed, doggish eye.

            Finally, he licked his lips and said, “That’s enough, Larue.”

            The young werewolf threw the demon to the ground. Meg touched the wounds on her neck gingerly, trying to stave off the bleeding. Once she was on her feet again, the old werewolf approached her. He loomed over her by several feet; his body filled the large hut in such a way that the others could barely avoid contact. He was an elderly member of a feral breed but he was no toothless beast.

            “Why should I even bother to help you, demon? Seems like a fool’s errand to me.”

            Meg glanced at Benny. His arms were crossed and his face closed off, but he nodded his chin once.

            “You have no idea what’s going down topside, do you, Gramps? Angels and demons duking it out, looking for any sort of supernatural leverage for an edge in the fight. Crowley was looking for Purgatory, did you know that? He wanted to sap up all the souls and nuke the whole world. Instead, an angel did and slaughtered heaps of his kind and humankind. Who’s to say he won’t do it again? He’ll destroy all the souls in Purgatory without a second thought. You want to sit here like a bunch of lily-livered lap dogs while the rest of the universe has a pissing contest over your very existence?”

            Lavoie cocked his head thoughtfully to side while Meg continued on.

            “Don’t you want to protect Purgatory? Protect that flea-bitten family of yours from being ammo for Crowley’s war?”

            Lavoie fixed his dark eyes on his daughter, but spoke to Meg: “That’s a compelling argument, but I hardly think that’s the reason you’re going.”

Meg sighed. “I’m tired of the wrong people losing. I’m tired of dying for the right cause.”

            “Very well,” Lavoie said in a measured voice. “Two days west of here is a stream. Follow the stream to where three trees meet as one. There you will find large rocks and behind those is a portal. That is how you will get to Hell.”

The old werewolf turned to the shelves against the back wall of the hut. He ran his talons over a number of squat bottles, finally picking up one and walking it back to Meg. It was violently orange like the tips of the stakes stacked below the village. It looked unnatural next to the werewolf’s mottled skin.

            “Purgatory is a world with very little gray area. Most creatures here see loyalty as a weakness, and family as a cheap construct. But my family’s lived here for centuries and I may yet be the first fiend in Purgatory to die in his sleep, peacefully. Even here in such a treacherous land can I wish that for others.”

            He handed the vial to Meg. “Hellflower sap. For when you need it.”

            She nodded at the werewolf and, with a quick glance to Benny, left the hut.

Benny stroked Larue’s cheek lightly, and shook hands with Lavoie. But Lavoie did not loosen his grip on the vampire. “Is this wise, Benny?”

            “Nah, probably not,” Benny replied, “but I can’t resist a good underdog. You may recall that’s how we met, old friend.”

            Lavoie smiled grimly.

            “I’ll come back after,” the vampire said, heading toward the hut opening.

            “Benny?” the old werewolf called, voice strained.

Benny stopped in his tracks. “Yeah?”

            “They’re looking for you.”

            Benny looked down at his blood-spattered boots. “I know, sir.”


	4. Chapter 4

            Watching Benny fight was spectacular. He moved nimbly like a man half his size. He kicked, punched, elbowed, sliced, and occasionally ripped the throat out of any monster who stood to face him. He looked horrifying then—his blond beard drenched in blood, a burning white look in his eye. Most times the skirmishes were fast and uneventful, but there were a few that would take a while. Meg could see Benny liked those best: he savored the ugliness of struggle and death, ate it up like the breakfast rabbits he fed on. Sometimes Meg would fall back to watch Benny finish off a last creature. He reminded her of a toreador rounding on a bull, self-possessed and determined for a bloody end.

            When they settled down for the evening, though, Benny lost all that brutality. He washed the blood out of his hair and tended to any wounds he or Meg had incurred. He sat shoulder-to-shoulder with the demon and told her about his life topside: his nest and how he abandoned them for a human named Andrea, his great-granddaughter who owned a gumbo shack. Conversation was easy for him; there were very few things he felt ashamed about.

            Meg marveled at how Benny reconciled these two sides of himself so effortlessly. She was cagey by nature and pragmatic by necessity. There was no other side. But she felt the limits of her personality when speaking with the vampire: she was not comfortable talking about herself beyond basic needs. She had no patience for reflection or anything in the abstract; she wanted at the heart of things by any means necessary and found the harshest routes to be the quickest. She sought knowledge but not truth and pitied anyone who valued the latter over the former. Truth had no place in her life.

            In other circumstances, maybe, she would have told Benny important things, like about Azazel and her human father. But that information was a weapon in the hands of others; they pierced deeper than any sword. Instead, she told him about the best brisket she ever had topside, or made fun of the Winchesters, or described the architecture in Hell. Things that were not painful and could never be.

            Sometime in the night, Benny jolted awake. “You sleepin’?” he whispered, jostling her shoulder lightly.

            “I don’t sleep, Benny, remember?”

            “Right, right...” Benny readjusted his position underneath the huge shaggy pine they were camped under for the night. “Meg, I gotta tell you somethin’ about my family.” The heaviness of his voice indicated a serious conversation was upon them.

            “Okay.”

            “Last time I was topside, things got a bit hairy between me and mine. Lotta my kin ended up here, thanks to me. And boy, they’re mad as hell about it.”

            “Nobody’s happy to be in Purgatory, Benny,” Meg said, “that’s the point.”

            “Right, but what I’m saying is—they hold me personally responsible. And now that they know I’m back in Purgatory, they been looking for a family reunion.”

            “So what’s your plan?”

            Benny’s mouth turned downward under his bushy beard. His expression clouded as he struggled for words.

            “They’re my _family_ ,” Benny sighed, finally.

            “Family’s overrated,” Meg retorted fiercely. “Demons...we don’t do family. Family requires promises and rainbows and cute puppies. None of those things last—especially the puppies. It’s better to look out for yourself. That’s how you survive.”

            Benny patted Meg’s knee. “You’ll find a lot of folks in Purgatory would agree with you. But vamps—we don’t function without family. Mine was dysfunctional, though, even by undead standards. That’s why I left them for Andrea. Trick is to find people who want the same things as you. When those things change, well...”

            “You loved your old man, though?”

            “I love him still. I owe him so much, I reckon I’ll never shake loose of him entirely.”

            “What if he tries to kill you?” Meg asked. “Then what?”

            “I don’t know.” Benny sighed. “Where do you go when you die in Purgatory? Do you just come back ’round, or is there a lower circle of existence where you’re even deader?”

            “Should’ve asked the old dog back in Werewolf Village,” Meg replied.

            “Nah. I think that’s the one thing Lavoie doesn’t know.”

* * *

            True, Meg did not sleep. But she closed her eyes and turned inward, conserving her energy in case fiends showed up in the night. Benny stared at her sometimes when it was his watch. She talked nonchalantly, yet her body was always tightly wound and her expressions were strained. He could smell the acidic aroma of worry radiate off of her, but she didn’t talk about Crowley—or anything else of personal import.

            And he didn’t press her. As far as he was concerned, Benny’s knowledge was on a need-to-know basis. He was comfortable with that; he knew enough about Meg to trust her. Dean did not sing her glowing praises, but between the uncharitable epithets Benny could see that the hunter relied on her more than a couple times. And she had given her life for the Winchesters, just like Benny had. Dean did not take those gestures lightly, though he would never tell that to Meg. It was hard to imagine that the hunter had ever said anything nice to a demon.

            Benny wondered if anyone had been kind to Meg before. She looked the type who swallowed compliments like bitter pills, the very taste of them making her shudder. No, words meant very little to her. But actions…

            Earlier in their trek, when they happened across a troupe of wayfaring vampires, she proclaimed to Benny that she could kill more than he would, easy. Benny took that challenge and fought tooth and nail, taking down a fair share of bodies. Afterward, Meg stood amongst the carnage with her hands on her hips, tallying up the corpses while she caught her breath. Benny counted, too, and saw Meg came up with the same answer: he’d killed two more than her. Refusing to recognize his victory, Meg instead charged Benny and wrestled him to the ground, laughing all the while. She did not hurt him, though she could have. She just tugged at his coat, occasionally brushing her hands against peeks of his bare skin—his wrists, his cheeks—while Benny tried to restrain her. Her touch burned hot against him, something he hadn’t expected.

            When he finally caught both of her wrists, she had said, “You think you’re so tough, don’t you?”

            “Me?” Benny snorted. “Nah, I’m gooey as a marshmallow.”

            Meg laughed.

            “You, though,” Benny said, thoughtfully, looking up at her. “You’re the toughest nut out there. Don’t nobody crack you, do they?”

            Meg wrenched her wrists from his grasp, smiling. “Not yet.”


	5. Chapter 5

            Meg and Benny reached the stream in two days, just as Lavoie had indicated, but they didn’t see the trees nor the rocks that hid the portal. The stream was wide but shallow, embedded with hundreds of treacherous, sharp rocks. The clear water flowed past them in near silence. Large evergreens crowded the stream’s edges, but none were joined like the old werewolf had claimed. Benny assured Meg that Lavoie hadn't given them the wrong directions, but he sounded unconvinced himself. Meg patted his arm and suggested they walk down the river bank.

            They didn't see anything until a few miles upstream. On the bank across from them, three thin evergreens leaned into each other, their tops fusing into one tall point. The resulting shape reminded Meg of a pitchfork buried into the earth. Fitting, she thought.

            “Well, well. Looks like the old dog wasn’t lying after all,” Meg said. "Remind me to send him a nice chew toy."

            They crossed the stream, Meg occasionally gripping at Benny’s coat to avoid slipping. Behind the fused trees was a pile of boulders stacked against the trunk of a tall oak. Meg could feel heat rising from beneath them.

            “This must be it,” Benny said. “Lemme see if I can budge these rocks.”

            He braced his shoulder against the topmost boulder and with great effort rolled it aside. He did the same for a few others, until a decent-sized hole was opened. The warm breath of Hell wafted out warping the atmosphere where it met the cool air of Purgatory.

            “Bloodsuckers go first this time,” Meg said, gesturing toward the hole.

            Benny had one foot in the portal when a rough grip wrenched Meg back and pointed a knife at her side.

            “Benny!” she cried.

            The vampire glanced back at Meg, removing himself from the portal. He looked at the demon, then at those who surrounded her, and shook his head sadly.

            The nest had found them.

            “My darling Benjamin,” a voice sighed. “I knew we’d catch up to you eventually.”

            From what Meg could tell, there were only a handful of Benny’s nest there, far fewer than she and Benny had expected. En route to the portal, the vampire had described his extended family to her and she recognized a few faces: Sorento, ponderously tall, dark, and surly, was the one holding her; Scarlet, stout with ringlets; and Quentin, clean cut even in Purgatory. And finally, the speaker: the old vampire, Benny’s father. He didn’t look a day over thirty years old, but the languor in his voice spoke of centuries lived.

            “Where is she?”

            “Andrea?” the old man asked, lightly. “Oh, we found her shortly after she came down. She was devastated, Benny. What _did_ you say to her…?”

            Benny grimaced. He never got over the old man turning the love of his life. He would’ve wished Andrea dead rather than a vampire but he knew that even in death she would never again be the woman he loved. The thought burned him to the core.

            “ _Where is she?_ ” Benny repeated.

            “She ran away from us. Good riddance,” the old vampire said, rolling his eyes and landing them on Meg. “But _this_ young lady here…Benny, I’m surprised. I didn’t think you liked blondes.”

            “Leave her out of this. She ain’t got a dog in this fight.”

            “No, certainly not. In fact, I don’t think she’s got much of anything to keep Sorento from gutting her.”

            Benny turned to his nestmate desperately. “Sorento, brother… _please_. We don’t have to spill any blood here. We spilt enough for a lifetime.”

            Sorento said nothing but dug the blade deeper into Meg’s side, forcing a pained grunt out of her.

            The old vampire slinked up to Meg, eyeing her up and down like a meal prospect.

            “What’s your name?” he asked. Meg did not respond to him, not even when Sorento drew blood with his knife. “I can’t threaten you with turning because you’re not human. And I’d let Quentin suck you dry but, frankly, your kind tastes like the bottom of a dumpster. However, we _can_ bump you off to the next dimension, wherever that may be. So save yourself the trouble and _acquiesce_.”

            “Meg. It’s Meg.”

            “Thank you, Meg. Now, Benny. Since we’ve landed in Purgatory I have had some time to think. I’ve missed you, you know.”

            “Wish I could say the same, sir,” Benny replied.

            “No,” the old man said, thoughtfully, “no, obviously you went ahead and made new friends. It’s _fine_ , of course, because rumor has it that the Winchester sent you back down here. What a quality pal he turned out to be.”

            “Dean was a better friend than you were, old man,” Benny shot back.

            “Of course, you’re right. You and I—we were at an impasse. You rejected your need for human blood, natural as it is. You became so _conflicted_ by the end, I never understood it. But now that we’re all here in Purgatory, it’s rodents and werewolves for everyone! I feel like a monk!” He laughed airily. “So you see, it seems we are able to be a family once again.”

            Benny’s expression darkened and he dropped his gaze to his dirty shoes. Meg had never seen him so diffident.

            “Say something, my boy.”

            “I can’t.”

            “Can’t _what_ , Benjamin?”

            “I can’t go with you, sir.”

            This startled the old man. “And why not?”

            “You’re not my family anymore.”

            The vampire laughed again. “Of _course_ I am! I made you into fine form—your blood is mine, and mine yours for all eternity…”

           Benny looked sad but unmoved, which angered his father.

           “You owe me your _life_ , Benny! I took you in when you were desperately ill! I gave you life when death was at your door! Surely you remember that?”

           Benny’s face flashed savage and bright. He yelled, “You robbed me of a proper death, just like you did Andrea! You rather live forever than go into the unknown!”

           “If I remember correctly, you killed me with _my_ blessing.”

           “You knew where you were going,” Benny said, darkly. “You sent me down first like a damned scout, you coward!”

           The old vampire resisted a reply. Instead, he took a deep breath and rested his gaze on Meg, still squirming under Sorento’s knife.

           “I’m sorry you feel that way, my boy,” the old vampire said. “Let me make it up to you. Rejoin us and we’ll patch things up.”

           “We’re _well_ past repair, old man,” Benny replied. “Ain’t nothing gonna fix it now. You took everything I loved away from me.”

           “…fine.” The other vampires fidgeted slightly. It was unlike their father to give up so easily. “I don’t want to kill you, Benny. The first time was devastating enough. But if this really _is_ an impasse, then there’s not much else to say, is there?”

           “No!” Sorento shouted.

           The old vampire whirled around in surprise. “No?”

           “Benny, you join us or the demon dies,” Sorento said.

           A slow and sinister smile crept across the old vampire’s face. “He’s always been one for ultimatums. Well, it’s out of my hands now.”

           “Brother, don’t hurt her,” Benny warned his nestmate. “I promised her I’d keep her safe. Just like you keep Scarlet safe.”

           “Don’t toss me in like some cheap playing chip, you cur,” Scarlet shouted.

           “Quiet,” Sorento said to her. “You must choose, brother.”

           Meg elbowed into Sorento, giving herself a modicum of space from the vampire. She caught Benny’s eye and said, “Get away from these bloodsucking freaks as fast you can. Your old man doesn’t want _you_ , not like you are now. He wants the monster, he’ll do anything to get it back. You can’t let him kill the best part about you, Benny. _Run away_.”

           Sorento yanked her closer again and shoved the tip of the knife into her. “Shut up, or I’ll slice you open.”

           The pain in her side was excruciating, but Meg’s face did not betray her agony. Instead, she tilted her head back and laughed throatily. “You go on and do that, Barnabas. You’ll only make the decision easier for him.”

           Benny was at a loss. In a buried part of his mind, one he could hardly acknowledge aloud, he wanted to return to his nest. Ever since he stopped killing humans, he had been wracked with guilt and fear and hunger—so much hunger. Even in Purgatory where brutality kept him alive, he could never fully unburden himself from his conscience. There was too much gray area, too much nuance in the world and it made him crazy. It would be a relief to be once again part of a family where his darker impulses were encouraged. But Meg was right—there was no happy ending with the old man. Sure, his father’s disposition was sweet and reconciliatory now but Benny could not trust it to last. The old man held grudges for centuries and had a penchant for petty revenge. He would always resent Benny for his humanity and punish him for tearing their nest apart.

           And Benny _had_ promised to get Meg safely to Hell and back. She could do it alone, of course, but her cause felt like his own now. He believed in Meg and he wanted for her some satisfaction after a lifetime of chasing it. She deserved it. He hated that his family was now literally the only thing between them and Hell. The choice was clear, though it hurt him immensely—he couldn’t go with her. Choosing her meant she died at the hands of his family and he could not let that happen. Not again, not with someone else he cared about.

           “I’ll go with you, old man, if you promise you’ll let Meg be.”

           “Certainly,” the old vampire assured him. “Sorento, let her go.”

           Sorento shoved Meg aside, sending her headlong into the dirt.

           “Thanks a lot, Lurch,” Meg groaned. With great effort, she picked herself up and clapped a hand to her torso to stem off the blood flowing down her in rivulets. She felt cold and a little lightheaded.

           The old vampire said to Benny, “Say goodbye to your little demon friend. We need to go.”

           Benny enveloped Meg in his thick arms. His body was fragrant and warm like a childhood blanket. Meg laughed giddily into the crook of his shoulder, her head spinning despite being so firmly held. Her body felt increasingly lighter like a hot air balloon dropping ballasts. Blood loss had made her feel free, if only for a moment. She stood on her tiptoes to put her mouth near Benny's ear.

           “Back when I was human,” she breathed, “my daddy wouldn’t let me go, either.”           

           “What did you do?” Benny whispered back. He sounded like a little boy.

           “I killed him in his sleep.”

           Meg could feel Benny’s chest rise and fall in ragged movements. He stroked her hair a little and said, “ _Wait for me_.” He then kissed her cheek and left with his nest.

* * *

            That evening, Purgatory looked darker than Meg ever remembered seeing it. The twilight arrived and she could barely see her hands in front of her. She hid in the center of a huge evergreen facing the portal to Hell, letting its heavy branches protect her while she nursed her wounds. The portal glowed faintly in the darkness, curls of sulfuric air undulating into the atmosphere. Nothing stirred that evening; Meg couldn’t even hear the stream gurgle. She closed her eyes and for the first time felt the depth of the darkness and silence of Purgatory. Why had she never heard it before, that terrible emptiness? She was vulnerable like a deep sea diver: the darkness threatened to crush her the deeper she sank into it.

            _Wait for me_ , Benny had said. But for what length of time? Would he be able to extract himself so quickly from his father? How long could Meg stay in Purgatory before the silence ate her up completely? She couldn’t wait forever. Not when Crowley was alive. He was probably still looking for the demon tablet, and the Winchesters plus the angel were likewise doing their damnedest to keep it out of his hands. If Crowley was telling the truth, then they planned to close the gates of Hell with every demon on Earth in it. Meg had no qualms with this, except she hoped she wasn’t locked in Purgatory when it happened. If Crowley secured the tablet, however…the power he would possess over the whole of Hell would be incredible. Who knows what he could do with it.

           Meg needed to get to Hell immediately. But her body would not move.

            “He’s not coming back. He would’ve been here by now,” she said to herself. “ _Move._ ”

            She remained seated. Hours pass before her, and her mind wandered into dangerous places it had not broached in a long time. She sat so still then that she could feel the violence of her own heartbeat. Each thump felt like a punch in the chest. It was almost too much to bear.

            Where was Benny? Was he escaping or was he dead? Or worse—did he stay with his nest after all? The questions sat with Meg uncomfortably. They had agreed to go to Hell together, but no one knew better than Meg about best intentions gone awry. Benny did not owe her anything. Letting her live was already more than many others had done for her. And he had been useful—he got her further than she would’ve gotten herself, though she hated to admit it. She doubted he’d be much use in Hell. It was her home, she knew it better than most.

            Still…

           She wanted to hear Benny’s voice again, feel the profound thrum of it in her chest—in this excruciating quiet more than ever. His absence left the world colder. Meg had only once before felt that way about someone. The mere thought got her to her feet, despite the agony it wreaked on her injured side.

           Meg would track down Benny and rescue him from his family. She would slaughter the whole nest if she had to. He might hate her for it, but she didn’t care. Staying with them would be the death of Benny, one way or another. She would do what he could not, for his sake.

           Purgatory began to brighten. Meg could again see the stream and the trees and rocks surrounding it. The water glinted brilliantly in the new light. She looked down at her hands—they were covered in dried blood that flecked at the creases of her palms. She would wash them and then go find Benny, she told herself. She emerged from the evergreen and crouched next to the stream to dip her hands in. She scrubbed them together to remove as much blood as she could, but her hands remained a little tinged with pink. The water felt good, though: pure like Purgatory never was to her; it calmed her. Her eyes followed the bloody water down the stream as far they could see.

            At the bend of the river stood Benny. He was covered head to toe in blood, hair plastered to his scalp and shirt stained beyond recognition. He held one of his arms against his chest protectively and relied on his blade as a makeshift cane, leaning on it heavily to balance out a limp.

            “ _Benny!_ ” Meg cried, running toward him. Her side screamed in pain but she did not slow down until she reached him. He dropped the blade and collapsed into her small frame. He began to sob violently, stunning Meg. She wrapped her arms around him as best she could and let him ride out his tears.

            “I killed the old man, Meg. I killed all of them,” the vampire whispered, puffing weak breaths against her neck. His voice plucked at something deep in Meg, radiating warmth throughout her body.

            “You’re a tough nut after all,” she replied. "I'm glad you're here."

            Benny removed himself from Meg’s arms to look at her. He was surprised to see that there were tears in her eyes, too.


	6. Chapter 6

            Benny insisted that they enter the portal immediately, but Meg refused. She had dragged him under the large evergreen and propped him gingerly against its trunk. Up close, he looked awful: there was barely an exposed part of him that wasn’t shredded, swollen, or hacked into.

            “Your face is one good punch away from hamburger meat,” she said.

            “Aw, I’ll be all right. I’m tough as nails.”

            Benny tried to stand up, but Meg pressed down on his bad leg and he collapsed back on the ground, hollering in pain.

            “Sit down, marshmallow,” she smirked. “I’ll grab you something squirmy so you can heal up.”

            She disappeared through the curtain of dense branches. Benny closed his eyes and tried to focus on something other than the pain. He was impatient to get Meg to Hell, of course, but a new feeling had settled in his chest: he wanted to put Purgatory behind him. The thought surprised him. He had lived in Purgatory so long it had come to resemble a sort of home for him, moreso than Earth had ever been since he became a vampire. He wasn’t as knowledgeable as Lavoie, but he had navigated Purgatory longer than most and not out of luck alone. Something, _something_ had shifted in him that night and it had tainted Purgatory for him. The problem was, where was he to go?

            Meg returned with a large, wriggling woodchuck in her arms.

            “You back already?” he asked, incredulously. He did not press any further. Rather, taking the creature out of Meg’s hands, he promptly sunk his teeth in. Meg watched as the wounds on Benny’s body started to mend themselves.

“How on earth did you catch the thing?” Benny asked, breathless from feeding.

            Meg shrugged. “I set a trap last night. It’s not rocket science, Benny Boy. Dig a hole, wait for something stupid to fall in.”

            “Kinda like Purgatory, huh,” Benny said.

            “Yeah, kinda.”

* * *

            What most people didn’t understand about Hell was that it was just like Heaven. It was not really anything, per se, but a conglomerate of every inhabitant’s nightmares. It just happened that there were some spaces, like the brimstone pits, which were the product of millions of minds molded by Biblical imagery, Dante, or Milton. They existed by brute strength of fear and collective consciousness. But they weren’t the most horrifying spaces, in Meg’s experience. Where the most evil sinners were held—those spaces were deeply personal and disturbing. Meg had seen one or two in her time and she, like any shrewd demon in Hell, stayed far away.

            Meg and Benny entered Hell from a remote corner of the dungeons where condemned souls were tortured. The chambers were carved out of volcanic rock, jet black and porous, with shadowy cells sealed with orange-rusted gates. The hall floors were lined in cobblestones worn smooth and shiny by eons of use. The familiar smell of sulfur hung heavily in the air, as did the shrill screams of condemned inmates. Meg led Benny through the dungeons with not a glance into the cells, but Benny couldn’t help but peer in any he passed. Most of the inmates flinched at their approach, a few shrieked. There were a couple, though, that must have been there for some length of time. Hell had broken them down so far that their physical form suffered: their bodies were sinewy and slick like they had been burned in a fire. They snarled and rattled the bars of the cage as Meg passed by. Benny was no stranger to monstrosity, but he could see that Hell made a high production out of it.

           “Some home you got here,” Benny commented.

            “We like to keep the decor medieval,” Meg replied. There was a vague smile plastered on her face.

            “Where do you think Crowley will be?”

            “He could be anywhere. He doesn’t spend much time in Hell nowadays,” Meg said. “But that doesn’t matter cuz we’re going to summon him to his lair.”

            “You can do that?”

            “With a wink and a smile. Or actually, a spell and some blood.”

            Benny laughed. “What sort of blood?”

            “The best sort for sniffing out creatures: hell hound.”

* * *

             Meg and Benny had a tough time getting down to the brimstone pits undetected. Every time a demon approached, Benny hid in the shadows while Meg pretended to be busy with something. A few demons even recognized her and saluted her warmly. Meg hastily shook them off, then signaled to Benny the all-clear.

            “Well, aren’t you just Hell’s own Miss Congeniality?” Benny teased.

            “Shut it,” Meg returned, sourly. “We’re just lucky we’ve run into folks who _like_ me. There are plenty of demons who’d keep me doing the Purgatory shuffle forever.”

            “Now, I can’t hardly believe _that_ …”

            Meg slapped him lightly in the arm.

           They turned out of the dungeons and into a narrow but tall hallway that spiraled downward around an enormous air shaft. On the outer wall were catacombs containing the remains of various creatures, filmed over with decades of cobwebs. The inner wall had thin, vertical arrow slits in it where a red glow glared into the hallway from the center of the spiral. Desperate screams pierced through them in intervals, much like Benny had heard in the dungeons. He peered into the shaft, but the openings were too narrow to see anything.

           “It smells foul in here,” Benny complained.

           “We’re in a brimstone pit, what did you expect?”

           “How many of these pits you reckon there are?”

           Meg shrugged. “Thousands, probably.”

           “ _Thousands?_ ”

           “…Probably.”

           Further down the hallway, the growing heat and stench of sulfur thickened the air. Benny’s breathing became more labored, ragged in its need. Meg slowed her pace so that he could catch his breath a little.

           “Hell doesn’t agree with you,” she remarked, wryly.

           “No wonder you all reek of this place when you leave—” He sucked in a lungful of hot air. “It feels like it’s seeping into my body.”

           Meg kicked a stray skull out of their path. “It probably is.”

           “You’re—you’re not—helping, Meg.”

           “No?” Meg stopped abruptly. “Here we are!”

            They had reached the bottom of the spiral. The inner wall opened up to a pit the size of a football field. The pit roiled molten rock, hissing as sulfuric bubbles burst into the atmosphere. The heat was almost unbearable to Benny, but Meg looked untroubled by it. Her smile was now genuine, her face illuminated by it and the glow of the pit.

            But the pit, while excruciatingly hot and odorous, was not what fixed Benny’s attention. Above it, dozens of condemned souls were strung up, anchored in the center of the air shafted by hooked chains that pierced their flesh. Some writhed on the hooks, screaming in agony for help. Others were unnervingly still. Benny’s mouth fell open as he took it all in.

            “This is where you go when you’ve been _very_ bad,” Meg said. “Dean got himself strung up in one of these after he made a deal with a crossroads demon. Lucky for him, our very own Castiel pulled him out.”

            “How long do they usually stay there?”

            “Depends on the pit.  Most aren’t checked regularly—company policy. I only come in this one to take care of the hounds.”

            The hounds. Benny had almost forgotten.

            “Aren’t they beautiful?” Meg asked, her eyes on the pit before them.

            Benny took a step forward. “I don’t see any—” Before he could finish, a roar of barking burst from seemingly nowhere. It sounded like hundreds of dogs were in the middle of the pit but the vampire couldn’t see anything.

            “ _PAX_ ,” Meg shouted. The din immediately hushed and a few whimpers could be heard. She turned to Benny, rolling her eyes. “I guess vamps can’t see them. We keep the hell hounds at the bottom of the pits. Really adds to the ambiance. I trained this batch a long time ago. There’s a list of things they’re supposed to respond to, so that any demon can dispatch them no problem. But I taught them a few extra things, for my own purposes.”

            “Like what?” Benny asked.

            “Oh, this and that,” Meg said, airily. “ _AD MATREM!_ ”

            Benny heard the pat-pat-pat of a creature padding toward them. Meg bent down to the hell hound’s level and patted its head. She began cooing at it in Latin, as if it weren’t a monster that dragged condemned souls down to Hell.

            “You’re one twisted sister...” Benny commented.

            “ _He’s just jealous he’s not getting pets_ ,” she said to the hell hound in Latin.

            Benny crossed his arms and sighed.

            “Hell hounds are the smartest beasts down here,” Meg said. “A lot more intelligent than some demons I know. They’re obedient but they’re also strategic, especially in groups. Get a bunch of them together and they can easily flatten a whole town.”

            “Let me guess: you’ve tested that theory once or twice.”

            “Practice makes perfect.” Meg turned back to the hell hound. “ _Give me your paw_.”

Meg produced from her jacket a vial she had swiped on the way to the pit. She pricked the hell hound with her angel blade. Benny was surprised to see dark crimson drip into the vial, as if out of thin air. Once it was filled, Meg passed the vial to Benny who stowed it in his coat pocket. Meg whispered something to the hell hound and then stood up.

            “Let’s go ring the dinner bell and see if Crowley shows up.”


	7. Chapter 7

            As they made their way back to the dungeons, Benny noticed Meg’s body grow stiffer, more determined. She walked slower but at a steady pace, pausing only to shove Benny into dark corners away from any passersby. She was quieter now, too, with that same grim smile fixed upon her face again.

            “Hey, you okay…?” Benny asked.

            “Peachy,” she replied. She did not look at him.

            “Any idea what you’re going to do once we summon Crowley?”

            “Well, I figured you’d hold back his arms and I’d punch him.”

            “Sounds foolproof.”

            The silence he left between them felt accusatory to Meg and irritation got the best of her.

            “I don’t know, Benny! We’ve got two crazy bludgeons, your fangs, my angel blade, and some Purgatory sludge. I think we can kill one lousy hell monkey.”

            Benny stepped in front of the demon and stopped her in her tracks. “Meg, be serious. He ain’t the demon king for nothin’. Last time you faced him, you ended up dead.”

            “So what? I die, I go back to Purgatory, I start all over again.”

            Benny had to admit she had a point. Purgatory looked like a soft landing now that they’d been there. Souls cycled around from one place to another so easily, death felt less like a full stop and more like a passage. Still, what Meg said and what she felt were two separate beasts. He heard the desperation under the bravado of her words.

            “Crowley needs to be put down before he gets his hands on that demon tablet again. I’ll do it a hundred times if I have to.”

            Benny cupped her cheek gently with one hand, but his voice was firm. “Look at me,” he said. Her eyes glowed like hot embers. “We’re gonna see this damn thing through. And just the one time, you hear me? There’re more important things to do than spending the rest of our days chasing after revenge. We’ve got some living to do.”

            Meg strained for a response but could not find the words.

            Benny smiled. “Blink once for yes, twice for no.”

            Meg blinked once. And then she smiled back.

            “Well, all right then!” He clapped her on the shoulder to punctuate the decision. “Now, Crowley’d be a fool to keep his place unguarded when he’s gone. We gonna fight our way in or what?”

            “Just you watch, Benny Boy.”

            They reached a corridor watched over by two giant musclebound demons clad in black. Behind them laid a massive blood-stained wooden door, the entrance to Crowley’s lair. Benny hung back and watched as Meg’s posture straightened, her hips moving a little more exaggerated as she approached them. She wasn’t a bad fighter at all, but Meg was far and beyond a strategist. She had to be: she couldn’t intimidate enemies with brute size like Benny could. Her charisma and sharp mind commanded people’s attention, but it was her capricious brand of brutality that built her reputation in Hell. The two hulks at the door were unsettled just by the sight of her. Benny admired her deeply then.

            “What are you doing here?” one of the demon guards demanded. “You’re supposed to be dead.”

            “Dead wasn’t working for me,” Meg said. “Now, boys, is Crowley home? I’ve got some words to mince with him.”

            “You have no business here, traitor,” the demon spat.

            “So he’s not here, huh? Well, let me just stick a note on his desk…” She moved toward the door.

            The second guard grabbed her by the throat and lifted her clear off the ground. He raised her to his eye level and said, “You’ll do nothing.”

            Benny lurched forward to help, but the first demon punched him in the stomach, sending him flying backward onto the stone floor. The guard tossed Meg next to Benny in a gasping heap.

            “You really got Heckle and Jeckle on the ropes there,” Benny wheezed at her.

            “Shut up.”

            Meg clambered to her feet and approached the guards once more.

            “Move out of my way or find yourself dead.”

            “I’d suggest moving, gentlemen. She’s not messin’ around,” Benny called out from behind her, still on the floor.

            The guards looked at each other and burst out laughing. “What’s a puny bitch like _you_ gonna do?”

            “Me? Nothing. But them…?” Meg peered around her shoulder. “ _Ad guttur._ ”

            Benny felt a whoosh of cool air sweep past him from the shadows. He propped himself up on his elbows just in time to see the throats of both guards ripped out by invisible hell hounds. The demons’ bodies collapsed on the ground headfirst with a large thud. Meg turned around to face Benny on the ground. Her whole front was drenched with demon blood, her red-sprayed face beaming as gleefully as it did down in the brimstone pit.

            “I didn’t want them spreading rumors that I was all bark and no bite.”

            Crowley’s lair was a grim but immaculate space carved out of obsidian. Its only light source was a thin stream of magma that ran down the length of the room to some unknown place and glowed against the glossy walls. Ancient maces, swords, and a few sinister battleaxes hung against the back wall, while an embellished suit of armor stood guard in a corner. In the center of the room was a neat desk outfitted with a high-backed leather chair and an assortment of talismans and cultish trinkets on top.

            Benny let out a low whistle. “He’s got style, I’ll give him that.”

            “Crowley kept a lot of souvenirs from the Dark Ages. Said it was the happiest time of his life. You’d think he’d gone to Woodstock.”

            Benny fished out the vial of hell hound blood from his coat pocket and passed it to Meg. “Well, let’s get crackin’.”

            The demon took a large copper bowl from a side table and set it on Crowley’s desk. She then rummaged through a cupboard in the corner of the room and brought back several handfuls of ingredients. She poured the hell hound blood into the bowl and muttered something in Latin.

            “This is valerian root,” Meg said to Benny, displaying a few dried roots in her palm, “standard stuff for raising demonic spirits.” She dropped the roots into the bowl and they sizzled in the blood. She crushed a few dried leaves in after. “Knotweed, to keep him from bolting once he gets here. And,” she tipped a few drops of something green into the bowl.

            “What was that for?”

            “Bile, to make it hurt.”

            She stirred the mixture with her fingers, and spoke an incantation in Latin. The air around them began to shift, though there was no draft or window to speak of. It felt like the atmosphere was being pushed out of the center of the room. The room began to shake, clattering the weapons against the stone wall.

            Meg shouted over the noise, “Crowley’s coming! He’s a real piece of work, so keep your guard up, okay?”

            Benny nodded and braced himself against the desk as the torrential winds picked up.

            A large billow of smoke materialized in the center of the room and out of it stumbled Crowley. The demon king did not look good at all. He was doubled over in pain, looking pathetically small on the ground. His face was bloodied and bruised, one eyelid purple and swollen shut. Dark blood saturated lengths of his tailored suit, parts of which were shredded. Meg noticed angry red wounds on his wrists—he must have been bound up and tortured by someone topside.

Crowley gathered his bearings and looked relieved to be in his own office. Then his eyes landed on Benny and his expression darkened.

            “I think there must’ve been too much bile in that spell,” the vampire said to Meg who was standing behind Crowley.

            “Who are you?” Crowley demanded.

            “Name’s Benny. Pleasure to meet ya.” He saluted the demon with a tip of his Purgatory blade.

            “What the hell are you doing in my office?”

            “He’s with me,” Meg said.

            Crowley craned his neck weakly to see who was behind him. His good eye flew wide open as he recognized Meg.

            “ _You!_ ” he yelled.

            “Me,” Meg replied, relishing how he looked as he tried to make sense of it all.

            “I killed you…You’re dead.”

            “I _was_ dead. Now I’m not. _Obviously_.”

            “How did you make it out of Purgatory?”

            “—the bloody way,” Benny chimed in.

            Meg joined Benny in front of Crowley. “You look like shit. Who got their hands on you?”

            “Sam Winchester,” Crowley replied.

            “What did he want with you?”

            Crowley rose to his feet, grimacing in pain. “He wanted some stock market tips—he’s looking to invest and wanted to know which CEO sold their soul recently.”

            Benny wrenched Crowley’s arm to an agonizing angle, sending the demon king howling in pain and laughter.

             “I think I might be in love,” Crowley panted through gritted teeth. He winked at Benny with his good eye. “The moose and his squirrel brother used me for the last demon trial.”

            “The what?” Benny asked.

            “The Winchesters are trying to close up the gates of Hell for good,” Meg informed him. “They must’ve had trials to finish in order to do the thing. Except if they had _succeeded_ , Hell would’ve been one big house party by now. What happened?”

            Crowley’s good eye appraised Benny while he considered his answer. “They’ve got bigger problems now. The angels fell to Earth. All of them.”

            “ _What?_ ” both Meg and Benny blurted out.

            “I almost regret killing you first time ’round, I wouldn’t have to bore myself telling you the whole saga.”

            Benny stuck the Purgatory blade under Crowley’s chin.

            “Yes, right there, big boy,” Crowley cooed.

            “What are the angels doing on Earth?” Meg pressed on.

            “A good lot of them are trying to kill Castiel. I can’t imagine why. I’m sure they have their reasons…”

            “We need to get up there,” Meg said to Benny. “The Winchesters are probably balls deep in angels by now.”

            “I guess I’ll be on my way, then,” Crowley said, hastily. He took a few steps backward toward the door, but Benny gripped his upper arm tightly.

            “I didn’t summon you here for a social call,” Meg said. She approached Crowley like a cat narrowing in on a rodent. “I owe you for that poke you gave me last time.”

            Crowley chuckled. “Sure, whatever you want.”

           He snapped a finger and…nothing happened. His face fell in confusion.

           “Knotweed, you idiot,” Meg shot at him. “No way you’re zapping out of here.”

           “Cookie for you,” Crowley said, dejectedly. “But let’s see what you do with _this_.”

           He snapped his fingers again, and a horrible roar erupted from outside the lair’s entrance. The heavy doors burst open and before them stood a monstrous beast. It resembled an enormous lion, taut musculature under a tawny pelt, but with an additional head—an eagle’s—and wings to match. Its tail ended in a snake’s head, complete with deadly long fangs. Meg had heard of these beasts before, but it was far more grotesque in person. It was a chaos of careening body parts, snapping and pawing and growling.

           Benny was gobsmacked. “What in the hell kind of…?”

           “It’s a chimera,” Meg explained.

           “How do we kill it?”

           “Good ol’ fashioned dodge and slice.” She shoved Crowley onto the ground. “Don’t move, pig.”

           Meg and Benny approached the chimera. It swiped a huge paw at Meg, thick claws narrowly missing her midsection as she jumped back. Benny lunged at the creature and lodged his blade into its wing joint. The eagle head squawked and gouged several deep cuts into Benny’s chest. He ripped the blade out of the creature and stumbled away from its sharp beak.

           Meg circled around the beast and swung the angel blade at its tail. The snake sniped at her and missed, but it sprung forward a second time and clamped onto her forearm. Meg exhaled a guttural whimper. The pain was excruciating: it felt like her bones were splintering from the pressure. She tried tugging her arm away, but the snake sunk its teeth deeper in her flesh. She sucked in a deep breath and swung the angel blade down behind the snake’s head, severing it from the rest of the beast. The chimera lashed out its remaining heads in anguish, causing Benny to duck for momentary cover. Meg pried the dead snake’s mouth open and let it fall to the ground with a dull thud. She tucked her wounded arm against her chest and rejoined Benny.

           “This reminds me of the time we took on that thing—you know, what’s it called…?” Benny huffed at Meg between breaths. Meg looked him over: the chimera had incurred several more injuries on him as well, but he was mostly intact.

           “This one’s uglier,” she replied.

           Benny attacked the eagle head next, while Meg went to work on the lion. The chimera battered them with its tawny wings, nipped and bit at any vulnerable flesh they exposed. Benny finally got the better of the eagle and hacked through its head in a heavy blow. The lion wrenched its head away from Meg and sent Benny flying across the room toward Crowley with one solid connect of its paw. The Purgatory blade clattered out of his hand as he fell unconscious.

           Before it could turn back, Meg plunged the angel blade deep into the lion’s neck. The chimera wobbled on its legs, flapping its wings weakly to steady itself. But the effort was too much and the chimera collapsed on the floor in a pile of bloodied limbs and feathers. Meg laughed giddily at the dead thing, mostly out of nerves, and turned around to collect Benny.

           Her face dropped at the sight.

           Crowley sat on his knees at Benny’s head, the Purgatory blade shoved at the vampire’s throat. Benny had woken up and was gnashing his fangs in pain and fury.

           “You didn’t tell me that Bluto here was a vampire?” Crowley said, coolly. He shook his head and tutted.

           “Let him go, Crowley,” Meg warned.

           “Or what?” Crowley retorted. “You’ll let me live?”

           “I’ll let you choose which extremity I cut off last,” Meg replied venomously.

           “Tempting, but no. You see, you only have the angel blade and as you may recall from last time, it’s as useful as a toothpick on me. So what I’m thinking is your fangy friend and I will walk out of here together and at least one of you will live another day.”

           Meg considered her options in dire silence. Suddenly, all her talk about being sent back to Purgatory felt cheap and flat like a line lifted from a movie. Every route led to Benny’s death, no matter what solution presented itself to her. She loathed herself entirely. She realized she had been narrow-sighted, had not factored in Benny’s survival, and now she would be responsible for his death. She was torn, rent in half by her familiar selfishness and a new desire to keep Benny _breathing_. There was no good answer. _The world’s too messy for good answers_ , she told herself. This was truth rather than fact. Meg hated that it, too, had snuck up on her.

           “Leave, then,” she said finally, eyes aimed to the floor. She tucked her injured hand further into her jacket.

           Crowley awkwardly stood up with Benny in tow and together they passed by the demon. She held her breath, painfully focused on the blade anchored to the vampire’s neck. Crowley stepped over the threshold of the door, out of the incantation’s reach, and laughed throatily.

           “Well, big boy,” he addressed Benny, “delightful as this has been, you’ve outlived your usefulness, so—ta ta.” He heaved a blow and, before Benny could react, sliced off his head.

           Somewhere at the base of Meg’s abdomen, a primal fire began to rage. Her heart battered itself against her rib cage; she could feel the blood draining from her face, the thrum of her veins loud in her ears.

           “ _You son of a bitch!_ ” she shouted. She strode up to the demon king and plunged the angel blade in his chest.

           Crowley laughed richly. “How many times are we going to dance this number, whore? Like I said, that blade is as useless and weak as you are.”

           Meg held up between them an empty glass vial streaked thinly with orange. “I tipped it with hellflower sap, a souvenir from my time in Purgatory. Let’s see how you like it, you sack of shit.”

           Crowley frowned in confusion. Meg pulled the blade out of the demon king and stepped back. His skin turned beet red, steam rising off him as if his blood was boiling inside him. His body shuddered violently and he stumbled into in the door frame to keep himself upright. But then—a violent, white spark burst from him, catching his whole body on fire. In a matter of seconds, he was consumed by the hungry flame and his body powdered into fine ash.

           It was done.

           Meg collapsed next to Benny, covered in Crowley ash. She squeezed his hand and sobbed heavily when it did not squeeze back. He was alive, if being in Purgatory counted as alive, but it was a cold comfort since she was the one who sent him back. He had suffered the burden of her selfishness for her. Benny was kind, but she did not think even he would offer her forgiveness for that. But she had to seek it; she had to find Benny and apologize.

           Seeking him out would require time. If Crowley was right and the angels were walking the Earth, she could be useful to the Winchesters. She could travel topside directly from Hell, save lives and smite angels like the ambivalent demon she was (and perhaps always would be). And she could protect Castiel, who had always seen something precious in her.

           But, she realized now, he wasn’t the only one.


	8. Chapter 8

            Meg crossed the portal back into Purgatory and set off at a fervent pace toward the werewolf village. She had no idea where Benny would land (did everyone land in the same spot?), but it was just as likely as not he would return to Lavoie and his family.

            The journey back was bloody, moreso than Meg remembered the first round to be. She battled fiend after fiend, cracking bone and slicing flesh. She had to strategize more, now that she was alone, but something inside her fueled her beyond her normal strength. She blazed through the forest like wildfire; she did not look back, not once. She’d finish with one battle, swab her forehead with the back of her bloodied sleeve and move onward. Onward to where she hoped the village was.

           In the evenings when she curled up in a cave or under a shaggy tree, she was so tired she feared she’d actually fall asleep. Sleep scared her more than the waking realities of nighttime in Purgatory. Luckily, now she had two happy thoughts with which to occupy herself at night. The first: she killed Crowley. Or rather, she sent him down to Purgatory screaming. She often passed the dark hours watching him burn alive over and over again. When she concentrated, she could smell the sulfuric putrescence of his charred flesh. It pleased to her to no end. His death was a long time coming; the world was safer with him tucked away in Purgatory. Though he had a throng of loyal followers who would come for her, killing him had been the right thing to do. Meg was comforted knowing that even after all these years of being a demon, there was still such a thing as ‘right’ in her vocabulary.

           The second happy thought: Benny was somewhere in Purgatory, waiting for her. It was odd that Purgatory was so many things at once. For Crowley, it was a death sentence; for the werewolves, a permanent home; for Benny, a waiting room. Purgatory, like Heaven and Hell, reflected the self. Benny claimed Purgatory was pure, not realizing he was looking in a mirror. Still, Purgatory was not home for Benny nor for Meg. The place had lost its value for her now that it did not lead to Crowley’s doom. She had spent years plotting how to wipe him from the earth; now that he was gone, Meg was free to imagine new scenarios—happier ones, like showing Benny a Purgatory dragon.

            A few days into her travels, she crossed paths with one and scrambled into a trench to safely observe it. Dragons were feared in Purgatory, but rarely encountered. Benny had always wanted to see one and Meg could not blame him. It wasn’t mammoth like she imagined—from nostril to tail, it was maybe the size of a pick-up truck—but its hide was fascinating. At first glance, it was a sallow olive green, yet in a burst of Purgatory glow the dragon glittered like an opal. The dragon slowly weaved its way through the trees undisturbed by fear (no one was stupid enough to take it on), but it observed its surroundings with a keen, lucid green eye. Meg stuck around long enough to witness the dragon lazily toy with an unlucky leviathan before burning it alive. She imagined Benny alongside her, his face ugly with rapture as he watched—mouth agape, eyes wide and unblinking. She smiled at the thought then crept away.

* * *

            Meg finally reached the werewolf village and (unlike Benny before) was able to find the ladder tree on the first try. She climbed up and through the hole, careful to duck her head from the bucket of hellflower sap, especially now that she knew what it could do. She passed through the throngs of villagers unharmed, though she received a few errant looks from some. An older werewolf sniffed at her curiously as she scooted past him in a crowd. Meg resisted the urge to shove him off the bridge, lest the werewolves do the same to her. The spikes below did not bode well for a soft landing.

            The spindly bridges were so confused Meg got lost. She tried to recall the path they took last time, but she couldn’t distinguish any landmarks—all the huts looked the same in her untrained eye. She had to retrace her steps several times before she finally spotted Lavoie’s home. Her heart hammered in her chest as she picked up her pace, knocking into countless werewolves along the way.

            It was dark in Lavoie’s hut and Meg’s eyes took a few seconds to readjust. At the back of the room sat the old werewolf and Larue. No Benny. Meg skipped the hello and demanded where the vampire was. The young werewolf bristled at her abruptness with a low snarl. Lavoie, however, stepped forward, smoothing down the front of his tunic with deliberation. He examined Meg from head to toe, his gaze languid but prim, then said to her,

            “He is not here. Though he did promise he’d visit once you were done with the King of Hell. Are you? Done, that is?”

            “Yes,” Meg replied, a little defensively.

            Behind the old werewolf, Larue said, “You _are_ back in Purgatory. Most fiends don’t come voluntarily and they _don’t_ come back for a second round. Nobody’s that stupid.”

            Meg rolled her eyes and headed for the door. She didn’t need grief from werewolves. She’d rather take her chances seeking out Benny than suffer through their smugness.

            “Stay with us for the night,” Lavoie called out, his voice booming in the closed space. He approached Meg at the entrance and looked down at her. “We won’t deny the hero that slayed the King of Hell. We are werewolves, after all, not savages.”

            Meg detected a small, wry smile on the old dog’s face.

* * *

            Lavoie, stiff as he was, held a surprisingly rowdy party in Meg’s honor that evening. In an enormous veranda, they laid out a feast of various Purgatory fare. The fruit and vegetables were dark, grotesque, and overgrown ( _Fitting_ , Meg thought), and the meat charbroiled beyond recognition. Luckily, Meg was an adventurous eater and in a good mood, so she sampled it all. Especially the alcohol. The werewolves stored huge stashes of Purgatory booze underground and brought several kegs up for the occasion. Hardly anyone there knew about Meg or what she did, but they celebrated and drank with her all the same.

            Once she had a few drinks in her, Larue loosened up around Meg. Her talk remained brusque, but she listened to Meg’s stories intently and laughed loudly at her jokes. She had a sharp, ready sense of humor which the demon liked, and aimed it at any drunken roughneck who approached them during the evening. Meg followed suit, verbally sparring with a number of young werewolves. One offered to wrestle her in earnest and howled with laughter when she told him, grinning, that she didn’t want to hurt him (Larue winked at her warmly and laughed, too).

           Meg could see now why Benny liked the werewolves. The pall they cast over strangers was hardly implacable; it spun her head how quickly they gave over to camaraderie. Larue, who only days before would’ve liked nothing more than to gut her, sat next to Meg with her arm around her waist, leaning in conspiratorially. Warmth and ferocity lived in these creatures in a mercurial slosh; Meg, who was mistrustful of outright kindness, enjoyed the gruff tenderness they extended to her.

           The night slurred itself into drags of color and sound. In the spirit of celebration, Meg did not bother to keep tabs on how much alcohol she had—and anyway, she quickly discovered werewolves were unscrupulously heavy-handed bartenders. Secured bodily by Larue’s firm grip, Meg let her mind wander. At one point, she leaned back against the railing to look up through the tree branches. She wanted to see the sky, but the foliage was too dense.

           Meg sighed heavily. “Do you have stars in Purgatory?” she asked Larue.

           “What are stars?”

           Meg laughed herself lightheaded.

* * *

            A werewolf plopped Meg onto a large cot inside a hut and laid a rough blanket over her with surprising delicacy. Meg crossed an arm over her face to block out the glare from the lantern hanging in the corner. She was sobering up, she could feel it, but her head was still swimming. She tried to focus herself, but colors burst and swirled in the darkness of her vision. It tugged at a memory tucked deeply in the back of her mind, one that in her current state she couldn’t bother to identify. She could only sense its broadest details—summer breeze, the round smell of campfire smoke, the pressure of someone’s shoulder against hers…

            “You sleepin’, sister?” a voice asked from Meg’s right.

Crouching at the side of the cot was Benny. Meg elbowed herself up into a sitting position so she could get a good look at him. The left side of his face was bruised dark purple, setting his light blue eyes into heavy relief. His broad smile saved him from looking completely ghoulish.

            “I don’t sleep,” Meg replied gruffly, though her face flushed. She blinked her eyes several times to focus them. Was he really there or had she fallen asleep?

            Meg’s hair was disheveled and Benny lightly pawed some of it off her face. He felt real enough. Then he exhaled a lungful of air through his nose; the warmth of it felt real, too. “You smell like the whole left side of a cocktail menu.”

            “Larue taught me a drinking game,” Meg replied.

            Benny chuckled. “I bet she did.”

            “Benny.”

            “What?”

            “I saw a dragon on my way here.”

            He grinned. “Did you kill it?”

            “Of course not, you idiot.” Meg shook her head clumsily. “But you should’ve been there. It torched a leviathan.”

            “Aw, I’ll see one eventually.”

            “Yeah, but you _should’ve been there_ ,” Meg asserted, her expression now serious. She tangled her fingers in the lapels of his coat, encrusted with dried blood and dirt.

           “I shouldn’t have let Crowley kill you, Benny.”

            The vampire enveloped her hands with his own and breathed out another long sigh. “Listen, I’m not gonna pretend I like getting the axe, but it was worth it. He’s dead now, right?”

            “He’s _here_ , anyway.”

            “Considering how many fiends he’s sent here over the years, I doubt he’ll be staying long. We’ll let Purgatory swallow him up.” Benny leaned forward again. “As for us…”

            Meg’s smile was incandescent in the low light. “What about us?”

            “I say it’s high time we make our way topside,” Benny said. “Been here long enough, don’t you reckon?”


End file.
